Who Am I?
by theboardwalkbody
Summary: Nny sits alone, wondering about how he became the person he is. One-shot


Start = 8/14/09

Finish = 8/14/09

**Disclaimer:** I do not own JTHM. Jhonen Vasquez does because he is much cooler than I. I merely borrowed Nny (and probably destroyed his character) for this in order to keep myself busy. Please review. I like hearing what people have to say. Unless your going to be mean to me. Then don't.

**Summery:** Nny sits alone, wondering about his past and present.

(_Italics_ is his thoughts. Just in case you needed that pointed out. Which I doubt. You're all smart people right?)

* * *

_Who am I?_

He sat alone on the hood of his old car that was parked (illegally) on the edge of a cliff that overlooked the city. The woods around him were dark. The clouds that hung in the sky earlier that had threatened rain disappeared and the stars were all out and shining bright. The moon was full and located high in the night sky. Just the way he liked it. The tree behind him was dead, and had been even since before he started coming here to get away from the city and the people that inhabited it. This was his place of Zen. The one place he could go just to sit and think. Normally when he came here to think and relax he felt at peace; like nothing was wrong and everything was just the way it should be. Tonight, however, this was not the case.

Very seldom does someone say anything meaningful to him. He just doesn't care about people and what they have to say. Especially when they know they're about to be killed. Before he kills someone his victim normally either starts yelling at him and threatening him (as if they expect him to let them lose so they could kill him instead!) or they breakdown and cry and pray to whoever they believe in to save them. Tonight though, one guy had gotten to him. The man was strung up to the wall about to be drained of all his blood (the wall needed a fresh coat) when he said: "At least I know who I am, where I came from, and where I am going." Normally, the final words of his victim would be blocked out (they were all pretty much the same anyway, why keep listening?), but tonight they echoed in his head over and over like someone had put a horrible song on repeat just to torture him. With one swift move of the arm, the man earned a quicker death.

Now he, Johnny C. (aka Nny) sat wondering where he had come from; who he was, and more importantly, he he became the person who he is. What did he mean to this world really? Why was he this way? He couldn't remember anything from his past. If he did manage to remember anything it was just something small and insignificant. Nothing that would solve the puzzle that was his life. He used to paint. That much he knew, but only because those paintings were still in his house. They waited in rooms, haunting him like ghosts. Ghosts of memories he could not remember. Sometimes he would look at these painting when he came across them. When he looked at them he would feel lost and empty. He just couldn't imagine himself painting or drawing anything other than his 'Happy Noodle Boy' comics.

_Who the **FUCK** was I?_

He wondered if he was the same person now as he was when he did those paintings. Or was that artist dead along with the memories? He wondered what pushed him over the edge; what pushed him to be the murderer he was. Did he always have the urge to kill? Or was this part of him due to some strange influence over his mind? He wondered why the hell inanimate objects such as the Doughboys and Nailbunny could move and talk to him.

_Why am I so fucked up!?_

He looked up into the sky to see a shooting star. He watched it fly across space and thought about how all the people down in the city below who had just seen it were probably making stupid wishes like winning the lottery, hoping to find their prince charming, or maybe even wishing that they didn't catch syphilis from the whore they picked up the other night. He wondered why people even believed in making wishes on shooting stars. Didn't they know what a shooting star was? That it's just a dying star that will soon blink out of existence? Why would someone wish on something that's just a dying ball of light?

The thought of dying things brought him out of his state of temporary depression. He had people in his basement that he needed to deal with. He was way to awake to spend the rest of the night here. He had to do something. Wasting his time sitting here wondering about his problems was not a fun way to spend the night. Not when there were problems in his basement that were easier to get rid of.

He sighed, jumped off the car and climbed into the drivers seat. He took one last look out over the edge of the cliff before he started the car and headed for home. Overhead the night sky grew cloudy and a storm was heading in.


End file.
